Reunion
by Botosphere
Summary: On a mission for NEST, Sam and Bumblebee encounter an old friend...and new enemies. By Eowyn77, sequel to Introductions: Raquel Gutierrez-Ramon.
1. Grease Spot

Author's Note: This fic is part of our Kinship fanon in which Optimus and Sam share a brother bond. Details about their bond can be found in _Kinship_ and its sequel _The Tie That Binds_, if you haven't already read them. However, this story should make sense by itself, too.

Bee's song clip is from "The Witch Doctor" by David Seville

* * *

Bumblebee and I cruised the streets of Mission City, and to any casual observer, we looked like we were aimlessly wandering. In reality, we were here as a favor to Major Lennox and Optimus. A "meteorite" had landed nearby, and it wasn't responding to hails. A NEST team – including Ironhide, Sideswipe, Arcee, and Ratchet – were in route from Diego Garcia to investigate, but with the 'bot making landfall so near _Mission City_ of all places, Bumblebee was dispatched to keep an eye on things until the rest of them got here.

It had been seven years since Megatron attacked the city, and other than the Memorial Corner downtown, you'd never guess it had been ground zero for an alien robot battle. Funny how quickly we humans forgot these earth-shaking events and got back down to the business of living. Take me, for instance. I'd graduated just this spring and Mikaela and I both moved back to California. My folks were Winnebago nomads, but her dad's shop was as much her baby as it was his. She'd moved across the country to be near me, so I figured it was only fair that I do the same for the summer at least. That was why Bumblebee and I were only four hours (at legal speeds) away from the unknown Cybertronian when he landed. We made it in two and a half.

"Finding anything?" I asked my friend.

In answer, his engine rumbled impatiently. Not yet.

Ratchet never was able to fix Bumblebee's voice the second time, but we'd all grown so used to him communicating through other means that we hardly thought about it anymore.

We cruised for another ten minutes before Bumblebee suddenly changed lanes and made a left-hand turn. "Found him?" I guessed.

In answer, 'Bee ran the light as it turned red and raced down the street, quickly falling in behind a red-and-blue motorcycle. Something about the way the biker sat seemed off – too stiff, too straight – and I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The Autobots spent enough time with humans that their holoforms easily passed for one of us, but even if a Decepticon bothered with a holoform, it don't think it could ever quite blend in. The motorcycle leaped forward, and Bumblebee's engine roared as he gave chase. Not an Autobot, then. Slag.

The alt-form Decepticon wove through the downtown traffic toward the freeway, and the seatbelt reminder icon lit up next to the speedometer. Double slag! I fumbled with my seatbelt, clicking it into place just as Bumblebee hopped up on two wheels to squeeze between a cement retaining wall and a line of cars idling at the stop light. As soon as we passed them, Bumblebee flew out onto the highway.

Optimus felt my sudden adrenaline rush over our brother bond, his curiosity mingling with growing alarm. He was still on the other side of the planet, though, and our bond wasn't strong enough for us to actually hear each other while that far apart.

My phone rang, displaying Sarah Lennox's number, and I just about dropped my cell when I heard Optimus' voice on the other end. "What's wrong, Sam?"

Remembering that this was probably an open phone line, I said, "I seem to be having car troubles." My voice did a funny flip when Bumblebee abruptly changed lanes. "You know, big, nasty, _evil_ car troubles."

"How big?" he asked, unable to hide his fierce fear.

"Well, not exactly car troubles, I guess. Motorcycle troubles. One motorcycle."

I could almost hear the gears spinning on Optimus' head as he processed this. Come to think of it, I probably could have heard it if Bumblebee's engine wasn't so loud. "Help will be there in approximately six hours."

"Six hours," I squeaked as Bumblebee cut off a semi, earning us a blaring horn and some rude hand gestures in the rear-view mirror. "Sit tight for six hours. Sure thing. I'll just sit right here and hang on for dear life. No problem."

"Red-and-blue motorcycle troubles?" Optimus abruptly asked, as though something had just occurred to him.

"Yeah. It's a big one, too, for a motorcycle. Maybe a Goldwing."

"Hold on, then, and remind our friend that this particular motorcycle is valuable. I'd rather not have it end up on a scrap heap." His alarm faded into something closer to frustrated worry, and it helped me calm down a little, too.

"Got it."

Across the thousands of miles that separated us, he wrapped me up in a hug of the heart. "Good luck, Sam. I will be there as quickly as I can."

"Bye." I ended the call and alternated between clinging to the armrests and bracing myself against the dashboard.

My brother damped his emotions, no doubt focusing on whatever he needed to do to either convince the military to ship him out or let him fly on ahead on his own.

"Optimus says don't kill the creep," I said.

The furiously thrumming engine snarled once.

That was…edgy for Bumblebee. But it was probably just irritation with me, sort of a "Hello, what kind of 'bot do you think I am?" kind of thing. It was stupid of me to give him advice about hunting Decepticons. After all, he'd been at it since before great-grandpa Archibald was even born.

Besides, I had the distinct impression that Bumblebee wasn't going to let this one get away. The needle was buried on the speedometer and, according to the dial on the dash, the engine was starting to overheat. Was that thing really measuring whether Bumblebee was okay or not, or was it just a thermometer? And what was it about this motorcycle that made him so important? Even when we were facing off against Barricade, Bumblebee hadn't pushed himself _this_ hard.

I didn't think it was possible, but we slowly gained on the motorcycle. By this time, we had left the interstate far behind. We were weaving through a canyon high above a little stream and there was no shoulder, no margin of error. A sheer cliff rose to our right and the earth fell away to the creek bed on the left. We were less than half a car-length behind the Decepticon when we rounded a corner and I saw the road sharply bank to the left. Even Bumblebee wouldn't be able to make that turn without slowing down. In the split second it took me to realize this, I resigned myself to us losing the Decepticon. In that same split second, I saw Bumblebee _reach his arm out_ and grab the rear tire of the motorcycle.

I don't remember much of what happened next until the airbags deflated. Metal shrieking against stone, a really _hard _side-impact and a strange, dizzy feeling like I was falling but I couldn't tell which way was up. I think I blacked out for a while, too.

When I opened my eyes, I was face-to-face with a high, yellow sandstone cliff. Bumblebee was perpendicular to the road, blocking both lanes, and bits and pieces of a monster red-and-blue motorcycle were strewn on the road to my right. "You okay?" I asked him.

The radio sang, _"And I'll admit I wasn't very smart."_

I chuckled weakly and staggered out of the cab, making a note to myself to never get in a car wreck unless it was in an Autobot. At the speed we were going, I should have been dead. There were dents and dings all down the driver's side, and I continued to walk around the car, examining the damage. I just about fell to my knees when I saw green goo smeared all down his mangled passenger side. Energon. Autobot life-blood.

"'Bee!" I screamed, trying to find wherever he was leaking from so I could…I wasn't sure what I could do, but I'm sure I could have done _something _to help, if I could just figure out what was wrong. It looked liked the passenger side door had been t-boned, but even a human-built car would be drivable with that level of damage. I couldn't find any fresh leaks.

"You think this looks bad?" 'Bee quoted from a movie I didn't recognize. "You should see the other guys."

Oh. I sagged with relief as I realized where the energon came from. Walking down the road and looking for the rest of the Decepticon, I wondered if he would let me close enough to help before Ratchet arrived. I didn't need to worry. There wasn't a flicker of life in the entire, twisted frame.

Bumblebee had run down and killed the 'con. _Bumblebee_. Against Optimus' orders. This wasn't going to be pretty.

And then I heard the sirens.


	2. Defense

I sat with my head in my hands, trying not to think. It wasn't working very well. I was stuck in the Mission County jail, being held in a cell until they could find a lawyer for me. Despite the fact that they couldn't find a body, they were talking about charges for voluntary manslaughter, reckless driving, and racing based on the damage done to the motorcycle and the eyewitness reports of me driving my Camaro like a maniac while chasing it down.

Oh, and the NEST team was still at least three hours away.

My furious mother's voice echoed in my mind, along with the sound of Optimus' stern, mid-chase reminder that the motorcycle Decepticon was important. I didn't close my eyes, already knowing what I'd see – Bumblebee being hooked up to a tow truck _again._ He was still in his alt-form this time, but I was worried about him. He'd _probably _be okay. He was _probably_ just laying low by not transforming or trying to outrun the cop cars. All that energon was _probably _not his. But the probabilities weren't enough to make me stop worrying.

I heard a sharp, female voice demand, "Where is he?"

Looking up, I saw a professionally-dressed Latina leaning over the seated guard. He was speaking too softly for me to hear.

"I have a hearing in twenty minutes," she continued in a commanding tone, "and after that I'm booked solid until seven o'clock tonight, so _don't _give me any grief."

The guard shrugged and led her to my cell, and I stood up to talk to them. The woman eyed the guard until he was seated at the desk again and then she whirled on me. "You," she whispered. "Your name is Samuel James Witwicky?"

"Yes."

"And you're accused of killing a motorcyclist?"

"That's what they tell me," I evasively answered.

"And that yellow Camaro down in the impound is yours?"

I never was sure how to answer that question. It felt insulting to 'Bee, but in the interest of simplicity, I said, "Yes."

Suddenly she grinned, beaming, and extended her hand to me through the bars. "I am Raquel Gutierrez-Ramon. I'd like to be your lawyer. Pro bono."

"Pro what?"

"For free. I'll take your case for free."

"Um…okay?"

She squealed like a little kid and then whispered again, "I'll be back in three hours at the latest. I'll try to rearrange my schedule to get down here sooner. Is there anyone I should contact for you?"

There was a fanatical gleam in her eyes at that point that made me half-wonder if I should decline her help. "Um, no, not right now. Thanks. I already called my parents. And my girlfriend."

Her expression fell back into something resembling a sane person. "Very well." She pulled a business card and a pen from her planner and, flipping the card over, wrote a phone number on the back of it. "That's my personal cell. Call me if you need anything or if you have any visitors. You'll want me present if you talk to even your parents again. The prosecutor has legal right to literally every single word you say unless it's just between you and me. Seriously, don't even talk in your sleep. Got it?"

I nodded my head slightly, still feeling numb.

"Good." She flashed me another too-happy-for-a-jail-cell smile and said, "Hang in there. It's going to be okay. I'll come back as soon as I can."

When she left, I wearily went back to my cot and lay down, staring at the ceiling and trying to ignore the mental images of smeared energon.

…

My new, freebie lawyer showed up an hour and a half later with a pizza and soda. This time, she announced herself as my counsel and the guard led us both to a private room, after giving the pizza a good looking over.

"The food here sucks," she said in explanation as she set the box on the table in front of me.

"Look, Mrs. Gutierrez-Ramon," I began, but she cut me off.

"Raquel. Please, call me Raquel."

"Okay…" Maybe I _should _try to find a different lawyer for myself. "Raquel, I appreciate your help, but how did you hear about what happened? And why do you want to take my case?"

She tossed me an almost-wary glance and then focused on opening her bottle of diet cola. "Every lawyer is expected to work a certain number of pro bono hours a year, and your case…intrigued me."

"Why? You have a thing against bikers?"

She grinned, glancing up again. "No. To be perfectly honest, I have a thing for cool cars, like your yellow Camaro or silver Corvettes. And Topkicks. _Especially _black Topkicks. And even motorcycles, as long as they're pink or purple or blue."

I froze when she mentioned the motorcycles. Arcee? Cool cars like Bumblebee and Sideswipe? Topkicks like Ironhide?

Raquel carefully watched my expression, and I suddenly wondered if she wasn't some lackey for the next wannabe Sector Seven. I caught myself trying to reach out over the bond, looking for help from Optimus. His calm and concern met my own worry, and I really wished he was close enough for me to consult with him about all this. The legal stuff was all Greek to me. Trying to play it cool, I said, "Okay, whatever. If you'll do it for free, I guess beggars can't be choosers."

For the first time since I'd met her, she looked a little disappointed. Then a new expression crossed her face – determination. "Well, if my motives are acceptable, here's the contract for retaining me as your lawyer," she slid a sheaf of papers my way, "along with the pro bono agreement terms."

It took us almost an hour just to go over the paperwork, and then she explained how criminal cases like these generally proceeded. "In the absence of a body, homicide of any kind will be virtually impossible to prove," she reassured me. "We've just got a lot of hoops to jump through between now and then. And please tell me you're clean."

"Clean?"

"Your initial blood alcohol levels came back clear, but the drug – "

"Oh. Yeah, that. I'm clean." I'd had my brain fried by the All Spark, thanks. Didn't need any _chemicals _to mess me up even more.

She'd managed to get her hands on the initial police reports, and she started going over those with me. All the photographs and physical evidence would be trickling in over the next few days and it would be at least a week for any lab tests to come back.

We were just finishing up with the report of the officer who first arrived on the scene – a trooper by the name of Schultz – when her cell phone vibrated. She all but pounced on it. "Yes? Please, send them in."

She set her phone down with an expression of catlike satisfaction. "You neglected to tell me you were expecting visitors. It's very unwise to not be level with your lawyer. You're lucky I anticipated them and told the front desk to admit them when they arrived. Otherwise they would have sat out there until we finished or they may have even been sent away."

"Oh." I hadn't thought about that, mostly because I wasn't sure when the human half of the NEST team would show up. At least, I hoped it was them. The timing was about right.

"Are you _sure _there isn't something else you want to tell me?"

Feeling trapped, I tried to read her, figure out her expression. She looked like she'd caught me in a lie. In fact, she looked like someone who knew entirely too much. Before I could answer, though, Lennox stepped into the room, followed by another, solidly-built man with salt-and-pepper hair. I didn't recognize him, but he seemed to recognize Raquel. "You?"

He had Ironhide's voice, and I realized it must be his holoform.

Her grin was as bright as when I admitted Bumblebee was mine. "Yes, me. Where else do you think _I _would be when Yellow Camaro goes screaming through my town on two wheels? But I don't believe we've met, sir."

Ironhide grinned. "Oh, yes we have, Raquel, but I looked a bit different back then."

At her confused expression, he said, "Close your eyes."

Glancing once from Ironhide to Lennox, she surprised me by actually closing them.

"Your website was in my favorites."

Ooooh! The light finally came on and I realized who this woman was – the lawyer fangirl who Ironhide had saved the day I destroyed the Cube. We all knew about her – Ironhide would never let us forget – but I don't think anyone had ever told me her name.

Apparently the light came on for her, too, and her eyes flew wide. She covered her mouth in shock, and her expression made both Lennox and Ironhide shake with laughter.

Recovering a little, she managed to stammer, "H-how…?"

"Later," Ironhide said, waving away her surprise. "But don't I get a hug from my fangirl?"

She bounded over to Ironhide's holoform and threw her arms around his neck. Then she giggled like a little girl while Ironhide hugged her, lifting her off her feet. After one last, tight squeeze, he let her go. "Now, then, what exactly is going on here?"

"OH!" She suddenly reverted to lawyer-mode. "Be very careful what you say. Every word is discoverable."

"Discoverable?"

"The prosecutor can require you to testify about anything that Mr. Witwicky says to you or that you say to him."

Major Lennox didn't look too concerned. "We'll get some military lawyers in here to straighten this out."

"Maybe. But in the meantime, I'm obligated on several levels to look out for Mr. Witwicky's best interests. I'm just saying…choose your words carefully."

"Fair enough," Lennox answered. "Now Sam, tell us what happened."

Raquel just about keeled over. "Don't answer that!" Turning to Lennox and Ironhide, she gestured that they sit. "Here. Review the police reports first and see if that clears a few things up for you. And just so we're all on the same page, how do you know my client, Mister…?"

"Hyde," Ironhide said with a cheeky grin. "Aaron Hyde. And you know Will Lennox."

"Of course."

"And Samuel's a friend of the family," Ironhide continued. "Good buddies with my nephew, Cam Romero, who goes by the nickname of 'Bee." At her confused expression, he added, "You know, because he likes yellow."

Her eyes lit up with understanding. "You're all in the same 'family,' then."

Ironhide nodded. "Lennox here is my personal friend, and he knows Samuel through my family as well."

A wave of relief washed over Raquel's face at this very human-sounding explanation. It gave us a code we could converse in. Lennox just looked very impatient with it all.

"So, Sam," Lennox tried again, "what happened to…"

"Do _not_ answer that!" Raquel said, exasperated.

"Look, lady," Lennox growled, but Ironhide interrupted him. "Samuel, where's Bee's friend from the _other_ family?"

Raquel seemed to think this was an acceptable question and didn't protest. Either that or it was the fact that it was coming from Ironhide.

"Um…" I racked my brain, trying to find a way to say it without compromising anything. I agreed with Lennox – this was ridiculous, especially if we were all just going to say, 'sorry, it's classified' to the judge and then skip town. Of course, I was facing murder charges, so maybe Raquel was right to err on the side of caution. Just in case. "He's…in the junkyard. The scrap-heap."

"Slag," 'Hide grumbled, looking up and rolling his eyes. "The big guy's gonna be angry about that one."

"How _is _'Bee, anyway?" I asked. "And where's the rest of the family?"

"The little lady is with him right now," Lennox answered, "along with…Doc. 'Bee's surly big brother who has a knife fetish is also there, keeping an eye on things. Bee's going to be fine, as long as his boss doesn't beat him senseless for the stunts he's pulled."

"Or the little lady," Ironhide added. "That femme was gunning for him the whole way here."

"Do you know why he…" I wasn't sure how to phrase 'went on a homicidal rampage' in our little, human code.

"Lost his temper?" Ironhide supplied and his jaw tensed. "Yes. Reverb, the other one…bullied the little lady in front of 'Bee a while back. It was a long time ago, but you know how we all feel about her."

Yeah, I'd been 'bullied' a bit by Decepticons myself. I could only imagine how furious Bumblebee would be with one that had personally tortured Arcee in front of him, especially with how he reacted to her being extinguished and reignited.

"So," Raquel cut in, "this other family…I take it they don't have many friends?"

"No," Lennox said firmly. "None. I'm positive this other guy was working alone."

She sighed with relief. "Good. That will make _my _job much easier."

"So when do we post bail and get out of here?" Lennox asked her.

"The DA hasn't brought formal charges yet, but they have another day and a half to do so, which will happen at the initial appearance. At that time, we'll enter a plea and post bail, if the judge allows it. Since Sam lives four hours away, we'll have our work cut out for us in convincing the judge he's not a flight risk."

"Oh, that's no problem," Lennox said with a wolfish grin. "He can stay with some friends of mine at Nellis Air Force Base until we get this straightened out."


End file.
